


Not Your Sidekick

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Whumptoberverse [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Day 3, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Sam Wilson, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kidnapped Sam Wilson, Kidnapping, Pranks gone very very wrong, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Racism, Sam Wilson is So Done, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam just wanted a pineapple, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, chained to a chair in an abandoned warehouse with duct tape over his mouth, Sam was having plenty of second thoughts. He hadn’t even bought the damn pineapple.----------------------------------------------------------------------------Sam decides to play a prank on Clint. It ends with him kidnapped by a man wearing jandals.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Sam Wilson
Series: Whumptoberverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921831
Comments: 36
Kudos: 132
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Not Your Sidekick

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020 Day 3
> 
> Prompts: Held At Gunpoint, Manhandled
> 
> Relationship: Rhodey & Sam
> 
> Title inspired by C.B. Lee's "Not Your Sidekick" 
> 
> This fic takes place approximately six months after ['Til the Fight Is Done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438419) and [What Makes A Captain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439220/chapters/64415188#workskin)

Sam had just wanted to buy a pineapple.

That was it. A stupid pineapple. No one had explicitly decided to start the team’s binge viewing of _How I Met Your Mother,_ but whenever Sam had wandered into the common room an episode would be playing, with at least two or three Avengers watching. Which is how the pineapple joke started.

No one knew who left the first one on the kitchen table. Or the second one in the gym changing room. Or the third one tucked away in Sam’s bed with military precision. They just started appearing around the Compound, in increasingly ludicrous places, until the Avengers were knee-deep in unexplained yellow fruit.

Sam strongly suspected Clint, and when the archer was in Missouri spending time with his family, Sam took the window of opportunity. Of course, that was the exact time every pineapple in the Compound chose to vanish. Either Clint had removed all of them, suspecting sabotage in his absence, or Tony’s very patient staff were mopping them up without question. They had cleaned up much stranger things in the place the Avengers had called home.

_Still called home_ , Sam reminded himself. Six months had passed since the Accords had first been brought to the table. They had since been amended, and amended again, and put back in the courts to be revised an indefinite amount of times while the rogue Avengers had been confined to the Compound and Barnes had found sanctuary in Wakanda.

Even now, when the house arrest had been lifted, the Avengers reinstated (under government supervision), and they were free to come and go as they liked, Sam still had trouble feeling like he belonged at the Compound. It was hard to think of home as a place you couldn’t leave. Home was meant to be the place you returned to.

On rare occasion, Sam wished he had taken a leaf out of Wanda’s book and just stayed gone. The young witch had been the only one of the rogue Avengers not to take Ross’s deal and had chosen to stay in the wind. A week after Sam and the others had returned to the Compound, freshly released from the Raft,  Vision had dropped off the radar as well. 

Clint and Scott had definitely taken it hardest, being cut off from their families for that long, and had spent the months finding ways to take their minds off the ones they were missing most. Hence, pineapples.

Sam had a specific target in mind. Clint had a nest at the back of the vents near the east wing which he was sure no one knew about. (At least according to Peter, who had picked up on it with his enhanced hearing.)

And Sam was going to fill it to the brim with spiky tropical fruit. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, chained to a chair in an abandoned warehouse with duct tape over his mouth, Sam was having plenty of second thoughts. He hadn’t even bought the damn pineapple. He’d barely made it ten miles away from the Compound.

He was at least glad that his captor (or captors) had gone for a pharmaceutical option instead of bashing him over the head, even if now he was heady and nauseous. He groaned behind the tape as he struggled against the chains holding him down, testing the restraints for weaknesses. Whoever had grabbed him hadn’t only chained his hands behind his back and bound them to the  chair, they had then run chains underneath the chair and locked them around his ankles as well, forcing Sam into his best impression of a mermaid.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable and it was damn secure. The only freedom of movement Sam had would have been to tip the chair over, but it was sturdy and he doubted throwing himself to the ground, Black Widow style, was going to fracture the wood enough for him to get out.

Sam took a deep breath in through his nose as he assessed the situation. Pulling off a MacGyver-worthy escape wasn’t a viable option, at least for now, so it was better to focus his energies into what he could control. Like assessing what he knew about his kidnapper(s).

He tried not to roll his eyes at the word. It wasn’t terribly unusual for an Avenger to get _captured_ every now and then, usually on a mission gone wrong, or a revenge plot, or something, you know, _superhero-like_. But this? With the chair and the warehouse and the duct tape? Definitely in the kidnapping category. All because Sam had wanted to play a prank. With a _pineapple_.

This was going in the same box as having his ass handed to him by Scott, filed away in _Things I Never Want Cap to Find Out About._

Sam forced himself to focus. He could deal with the embarrassment of this later, when he wasn’t chained to a chair heaving in warehouse dust through his nose.

Sam decided to start with the _why._ Information didn’t seem to be the game here. There was only a small amount of time before someone at the Compound noticed he was missing and came for him, and so they would have started on the lovely ol’ torture straight away if intel was their end goal.

Payback was next on the list. Sam didn’t exactly have enemies, the closest being Hydra which he was sure (hopeful) were at last extinguished. But the method of this was wrong for revenge. They had drugged him instead of knocking him out, and other than being tied up he wasn’t hurt in any way. Which suggested they needed him intact, which in turn suggested that Sam wasn’t the endgame here. So he was either bait, or a bargaining chip, or both.

Sam sighed as much as the duct tape would allow, feeling the humiliation triple, then pushing it aside. Even if his captors needed him alive - for now - things could still go sideways fast. And until he saw an escape option, he knew the safest bet was to play the cooperative hostage until rescue came to pull him out.

Which left him to wonder exactly which Avenger they were using him to leverage.

He was most closely aligned with Steve. Their friendship wasn’t exactly a secret, especially after the whole Accords fiasco, and Steve’s stubborn ass had definitely racked up a fair amount of enemies over the years. Sam could see the logic in going after one of Steve’s non-powered teammates in order to goad the super-soldier into doing something totally heroic and completely stupid. Steve would do anything to save a friend. The Accords had proved that.

Natasha was a viable candidate as well. Sam didn’t want to consider how many enemies the Widow had garnered over her time both in S.H.I.E.L.D. and out. That said, if they were using him to draw out Natasha, they had a hell of a red-headed storm headed their way. They would be dead before they knew she was coming.

Unless this wasn’t personal or about an individual. This could very well be a general ‘target-the-Avengers’ statement. Which had the potential to go very wrong, very quickly, especially if Sam’s kidnappers were planning to do something public and make a statement. There had been a lot of that kind of thing after the Accords. There still was.

Sam couldn’t think of any other individual on the team he’d be viable leverage against. Clint was a possibility for similar reasons to Natasha, but he had semi-retired years ago. There was Barnes as well, but knowledge of their connection was limited to the inner circle of Avengers and the Wakandan royal family.

Unless…

There was _one_ other Avenger that his kidnappers could be targeting, although Sam really, _really_ hoped that that wasn’t the case. The upside of having a genius, billionaire, no-longer-playboy, philanthropist on your team was a fifteen-acre compound with a lap pool and all the fancy weapons and toys and state-of-the-art wings he could hope for. The downside was that being on the same team as said genius made you a target for any idiots with a death wish who thought they could make a quick buck by grabbing you.

Not that Tony would pay for him back. The Avengers had all agreed to that on joining. No ransoms, no exceptions, designed to discourage the act in the first place and to keep money and weapons out of enemy hands.

Still, the very idea of Tony receiving his ransom call in the first place was enough for Sam to check, for the umpteenth time, if maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of the damn chair. Because while he could just about deal with the embarrassment of Steve or Natasha swooping in to save his ass, he really couldn’t deal with it being Tony.

If this was about Tony (and he’d rather go running with Steve at 5 am every day than have that be the case), Sam doubted that he had been targeted specifically. He wasn’t aligned with Tony personally. Whoever was behind this had probably been waiting for the first unsuspecting Avenger to leave the Compound unarmed and alone, and that had just happened to be Sam Wilson.

Sam gave the chains one more fruitless tug before leaning back in the chair in frustration. He and Tony were…well, they weren’t exactly _ok_ , but they were in something of a unique position in that they hadn’t been friends before the Accords. Sam had come into the inner fold as Tony had left it, retreating to the sidelines but remaining their ongoing sponsor. At the time, Sam hadn’t really thought about the constant suit improvements or the jets they used to fly around the world or even the Compound they rested in on their rare days off. He knew they came from Tony, but it had just seemed like part of the Avengers package.

Now, Sam couldn’t help feel Tony everywhere in the Compound, even as the man made himself scarce about ninety percent of the time. Everything there was bought and paid for by the billionaire. While Sam knew it was a barely a drop in the ocean that was Tony Stark’s wealth, he still felt awkward every time he picked up a set of car keys or walked into his luxury suite of rooms or opened the ever-stocked fridge in the Compound kitchen.

If he could have had his own place, he would have. There were times he envied Clint’s self-sustaining farmhouse, maintained by Laura’s income and Clint’s S.H.I.E.L.D. pension, which had been paid out (lucky bastard) just before S.H.I.E.L.D. went under. But his previous status as an internationally wanted felon made job hunting a little hard these days. That, and while Tony had been adamant that the new Accords meant they were no longer confined to the Compound in any way, the wording had been clear that the government much preferred it if they knew where the Avengers were at any time, and it was strongly suggested that they remain living at the Compound.

And so, Sam was constantly aware that he was living off Tony Stark’s money. So he really did not want whatever asshole had snatched him out of a supermarket carpark to demand so much as the designs to SI’s latest Starkphone app for him.

Sam was knocked out of that train of thought when he heard a door open behind him.

He craned his neck, trying to see, but the way he was bound prevented him, and there was nothing he could do as the footsteps came closer, followed by a sharp slap to the back of the head. It didn’t hurt, not really, but Sam let out a muffled grunt of protest anyway as his kidnapper came into view, and Sam saw him for the first time.

Ok. Come _on._

The guy looked like he belonged roaming the aisles of Walmart. He did not look like a highly trained kidnapper capable of taking down an Avenger. Sam couldn’t decide what he was more offended by; the shorts, the potbelly, or the jandals. He’d been kidnapped by a guy wearing jandals.

That was more embarrassing than the pineapple. He was never, _ever_ going to live this down.

“Comfy?” the guy Sam decided to nickname Asshole said as he grinned over his captive. “Tell me if you’re not, won’t you?”

Sam spared him a single withering glare before his eyes went to the phone in Asshole’s hand. Sam’s phone. Asshole followed Sam’s gaze and his grin grew wider. “Oh yeah. We’re about to make a little phone call. I think you have a friend who’s going to be keen to get you back, yeah?”

Sam weighed that. For all the positive publicity Tony and Pepper had pulled out of their asses to assure the public that the Avengers were indeed a dream team once more, there was only so far charity work and donations and galas could do. The public knew the team wasn’t exactly holding hands and singing kumbaya these days. Which meant that this probably wasn’t about Tony after all. Sam relaxed, just slightly.

“Your best friend, isn’t he? I wonder what that’s like? To be friends with someone that…” Asshole cast about for the word. “Infamous.”

Damn. Steve then. At least the rescue would be swift and textbook, and Steve probably wouldn’t tease him too much about it after.

Asshole vanished again and Sam tensed, only to feel something cold and hard pressed against his thumb. He smirked beneath the tape. As if Stark’s super-fancy, impossible-to-hack phones could be opened by a thumbprint.

He felt the phone vibrate as the thumbprint was rejected, and knew that the screen was currently reading “Two more attempts remaining”. He hoped Asshole got the message quick. Getting all his data erased would be a real hassle.

Apparently he did, because he circled around until he was right in Sam’s face, holding up the phone as he gripped a corner of the duct tape and pulled, taking what felt like several layers of Sam’s lips with it.

“Ow,” Sam said dryly, working his jaw.

“What’s the passcode?”

“Why on earth would I tell you that?” There were actually two passcodes; one that unlocked his phone for personal use, and one that appeared to open the phone but instead sent an alarm back to the Avengers’ Compound. And while Sam wouldn’t mind using that second one right now so he could go shower off the dust and grime of the warehouse and forget this whole thing ever happened, looking too keen would give the game away.

Sam expected the punch before it came, but he wasn’t expecting it to be so hard. He made a note that maybe there was more to the jandal-wearing, pot-bellied kidnapper than met the eye. “I can keep going,” Asshole threatened. “Or you can tell me now and you get to go home. That is, if your friend keeps his end of the deal.”

_He won’t,_ Sam thought. _Steve will completely ignore whatever you want and then come at you swinging. You won’t last five seconds._

Sam took two more blows to the face and a particularly nasty one to the gut before he reckoned he could sell giving in, and gave Asshole the passcode that would trigger the alarm.

“Hm,” Asshole mused. “And now tell me the real passcode.”  
  
Ok, _definitely_ more to this guy than met the eye. “No.”

“Stubborn.”

“Not really, just not in the mood. Try again later.”

“Come on,” Asshole whined. “I only need one little phone number. What’s the harm?”

Sam exhaled, thinking fast. He wasn’t keen on continuing the beatdown, especially if it got him hurt enough to impede a possible escape attempt later. That was if he even got the chance, which at this point, he didn’t see. And making the phone call now would speed up the gap between someone noticing he was missing and someone coming to get his sorry ass out of here. And Asshole may be a _little_ sharper than Sam had given him credit for, but if he was placing bets, he’d still bet on Steve.

“Sure, you can have a phone number,” Sam negotiated. “But not access to the phone.”

Asshole raised an eyebrow at that. “Sensitive information?”

“Just, like, a whole bunch of dick pics. Mostly mine, but still, I don’t think the other Avengers would be very happy if their junk got spread all over the internet, you know?”

Instead of being pissed off by Sam’s sass, as any decent kidnapper would be, Asshole laughed like Sam had made a joke. Which, technically, he had, but not for this idiot. “Ok,” Asshole agreed. “Phone number and I stop doing this.”

The backhand caught Sam off guard, making him bite his tongue. He spat blood out his mouth, forcing himself to recover fast. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “A phone number in return for you not completely bashing my face in. And for a bathroom break.”

It was the oldest trick in the book, and he wasn’t surprised when it didn't work. “You need to take a piss? Take one.”

“Gross.”

“Sorry, mate.” He sounded anything but sorry. “Chains stay on. Now give me Stark’s phone number.”

Ok, this guy really needed to stop throwing Sam for a loop. It wasn’t helping with the growing headache from the drugs and the beating at all. _“Stark?”_

Asshole was starting to get impatient. “Yes. You’re friends, aren’t you? Long-time friends.”

That was…an exaggeration, to say the least. They’d only known each other a few years, and Sam had actually only spoken one-on-one with the man a handful of times, and one of those times had been on the wrong side of a maximum-security prison cell. And just when Sam had thought he had avoided the most embarrassing of all the scenarios he had come up with.

Then a new thought occurred to him, and a laugh slipped between his abused lips before he could stop it. It earned him another slap, but he didn’t care because, yeah, this was funny. “Care to share the joke, buddy?”

Oh yes. Sam really did care to share. He couldn’t wait for Asshole to hear this one. “I don’t know Tony Stark’s phone number.”

“I thought someone who had been in Stark’s pocket for so long would be a better liar.”

Sam regretfully sidestepped the retort that he hasn’t been in Stark’s _anything_ , ever, thank you very much, in favor of avoiding another punch to the face. “I honestly don’t, man. And slapping me around isn’t going to turn me into a phone book. I don’t know it.”

Asshole glared at him, then shoved the phone back in Sam’s face. “Then we’re back to square one. Unlock it.”

“It’s not on there either.” Sam wasn’t even sure if Tony _had_ a private phone number. Maybe he did, one he shared with Pepper and Rhodey, and he guessed Peter now as well, but every time one of the Avengers had to call him they just did it through F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Which, if Sam did, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would track his phone, and Asshole would have to deal with an entire building full of Avengers. Or, you know, whoever happened to be floating around the Compound when the alert came through.

“Wait!” Asshole paused with his fist raised. He looked like he was aiming for Sam’s stomach again this time, which would have at least have been a nice break for his poor face. “Stark doesn’t have a phone number. Eccentric billionaire, and all that. He gets his assistant to deal with all that for him.”

Asshole considered that. It wasn’t _technically_ a lie. ‘Assistant’ was a little reductive for the sheer amount of work F.R.I.D.A.Y. pulled off, both in the Avengers and in Stark Industries, but if you got down to it she was, in essence, Stark’s assistant. “Call her.”

Sam exhaled. _Ok, Avengers, come get me. I’m missing Game of Thrones for this._

Still playing reluctant, Sam recited the number he knew would go straight to F.R.I.D.A.Y. in Tony’s workshop. There was a small chance Tony himself would pick up, but even if he didn’t, it would only take one word from Sam to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to start tracking his phone.

“If you lied to me, I’m going to break both your legs.”

Well, at least Asshole was to the point.

Asshole dialed the number and Sam held his breath, ready to ask the pleasant Irish voice for help as soon as she picked up. It was probably going to earn him a beating and a half, maybe even those broken legs Asshole had promised which…yeah. At least Steve would stop insisting Sam run with him at ungodly hours of the mornings. Sam needed his beauty sleep, after all.

But it wasn’t F.R.I.D.A.Y. who answered the phone. Instead the voice was male, familiar. _“Who is this and how did you get this number?”_

Before Sam could get a word out, Asshole’s sweaty, disgusting hand was over his mouth. Sam swore anyway, the noise muffled, as Asshole tilted the phone’s microphone away.

_“Hello?”_ the voice said again, wary, and ok, if someone was going to get Sam out of this, Colonel James Rhodes was far from the worst choice. Rhodey was military, like him. He had been trained for hostage negotiations; he knew what he was doing. 

“I want to talk to Tony Stark.”  
  
Sam heard Rhodey hesitate over the phone, taking in the situation. _“Who is this?”_

“Someone who wants to talk to Tony Stark.”

_ “A lot of people want to talk to Tony Stark. Give me one reason I should let him talk to you.” _

Asshole was leaning over Sam in order to apply enough pressure to his mouth to stop him from speaking, so Sam could see him grin when he said, “Oh, I think he’ll want to talk to me once he knows who I’ve got here, all tied up snug and pretty.” That earned him an eye roll from Sam, which Asshole ignored.

To Rhodey’s credit, he stayed calm. _“And who would that be?”_  
  
“An old friend of his. His _best_ friend.” Asshole met Sam’s confused eyes as he said the next part, face alight with glee. “Tell him he’s got about sixty seconds to get on the phone with me, or I’m going to shoot James Rhodes in the face.”

_What?_ Sam was temporarily thrown by the fact that Asshole didn’t seem to be bluffing, as he tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder to pull a gun from his cheap shorts and shove it against Sam’s head. It was far from the first time he’d been held at gunpoint, but the experience was never a pleasant one.

Rhodey seemed to be equally stunned, because Asshole was greeted by silence on the other end of the phone. “Well?” Asshole demanded. “Clock’s ticking. Get Stark.”

_ “I’m going to need some proof first.” _

Asshole shoved the gun harder against Sam’s head. “Say one word about me, or where we are, I pull this trigger. Got it?”

Sam fixed him with a look, but nodded best he could with the large hand over his face. He took a massive gasp of air when it was removed, wishing he could wipe the man’s salty, meat-flavored sweat off his mouth.

Asshole shoved the phone his direction. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” Sam bit out.

“Tell me, Colonel, do you want a bullet to the head?”

“Not particularly. Hey, Rhodes. Heads up, I might be late for movie night.”

He heard Rhodey give a disbelieving laugh on the other end of the line.  _“Sam?”_

“Well, at least someone knows my name.”

“What are you trying to pull?” Asshole hissed at him as he yanked the phone away from Sam.

“What are _you_ trying to pull?” Sam shot back at him. “All this work to kidnap an Avenger and you snatch the wrong one?”

“I didn’t - _what?”_

Sam had about thirty seconds of satisfaction watching Asshole flail as he realized his mistake, before the handle of the pistol came down on one of his knees and, ok, that freaking hurt. His shout of pain must have been picked up by the phone in Asshole’s hand, because Rhodey’s voice came through again, laced with concern. _“Sam? You ok?”_

“I can’t believe this!” Asshole was on the edge of a full-blown tantrum, going so far as to stamp his foot. Sam didn’t know people actually did that. “I kidnapped Captain America’s sidekick instead of Iron Man’s?”

“Ok, hold _on_.” Sam’s words coincided with Rhodey’s similar ones of indignation over the phone. “Who the hell are you calling a sidekick?”

Asshole wasn’t listening, starting to pace, gathering himself. “Ok. Ok. This can still work.” He raised the phone back to his mouth. “I assume Stark doesn’t want a hole in this one’s head either, right?”

_“No, he doesn’t, and neither do I,”_ Rhodey answered quickly. _“We can negotiate, but the more you hurt him the less likely it is you’ll get what you want. Got it?”_

“He’s fine,” Asshole snapped, then shoved the phone back at Sam. “Tell him you’re fine.”

_ “Sam?” _

“Yeah, I’m peachy over here.”

_ “Hold on, I’m coming to get you.” _

Asshole pulled the phone away. “I see a single Avenger get near this building and he’s dead, got it?”

_ “I got it. Tell me what you want.” _

“Are you deaf? Get me Tony Stark.”

_ “Alright. I’m working on that.” _

Asshole’s response was to pistol-whip Sam’s knee again. Sam yelped, then glared at him. “Would you stop doing that?”

“I’ll stop doing it when I get to talk to Tony goddamn Stark.”

_ “I’m trying as hard as I can. I’m Rhodey, by the way. What can I call you?” _

“Don’t use any of that negotiator bullcrap on me. I’m going to call back in, let’s say, five minutes. If Stark doesn’t pick up, I’m leaving the Falcon’s brains on the floor for you to clean up. Got it?” Then he hung up.

“Oh, so you do know who I am.”

“Shut up.” Asshole approached again, and Sam tensed, expecting another punch, but instead his captor just checked that the chains are still locked securely in place. Satisfied, he stepped back, tossing the phone between his hands.

“How did you even get us mixed up?” Sam demanded. “We don’t look anything alike.”

Asshole starred at him. “What do you mean?”

“Me. Rhodes. We’re hardly the Olsen twins. Wait. _Wait._ ” Sam stared him down, because there was one trait that he and Rhodey shared. “Did you mix us up because we’re both _black?”_

“No,” Asshole shot back at him. “I mean, yeah, you have the same…um, complexion.”

_“Wow.”_

“But you both also have similar hair, and bodies, and your suits look kind of similar and you both fly -”

“Our suits are nothing alike! Are you _kidding_ me? Have you seen that clunky thing Rhodes hauls around with him? Or do we all just look the same to you, is that it?”

Asshole bristled. “I’m you’re implying I’m racist, I’m not. I have plenty of black friends.”

“Dude, if you have to say, ‘I’m not racist’, you’re probably racist.”

“You look similar, that’s all I’m saying!”

“Tony Stark and Bruce Banner,” Sam shot at him.

“What?”

“Stark and Banner,” Sam repeated. “Two white guys, similar hair, similar build, both scientists. Can you tell them apart?”

“Tony Stark has one of the most famous faces in the world.”

“So that’s a yes. How about Black Widow and Scarlet Witch?”

“What about them?”

“Two caucasian women with long red hair. Think you pick which was which out of a lineup?”

Asshole, whose name Sam decided to upgrade to _Racist_ Asshole, checked the phone. “Three minutes. You better hope Stark picks up that phone.”

Yeah, to be honest, Sam was kind of hoping that too. Differences between him and Tony over the Accords aside, he was fairly certain Tony wouldn’t let him get shot in the head. “And what was all that sidekick bullshit about?”

Racist Asshole blinked at him. “What do you mean? You’re Captain America’s sidekick.”

“Says _who?”_

“It’s a well-known fact.”

“Where? Where have you seen that?”

“I…I’ve seen it!”

“Or did you just assume it?”

“Enough.” Racist Asshole was coming at him now, and Sam fought back a sigh because he was really getting sick of being this idiot’s punching bag.

The blow didn’t come. Instead, Racist Asshole disappeared behind him and Sam braced himself, flinching when he felt hands grip just under where his ankles were chained to his hand. Then his shoes were being removed. “Hey!” he shouted. “What the hell?”

Then he felt his socks being pulled off, and he struggled harder when he realized where his kidnapper was going. “Don’t you dare, you prejudiced, idiotic, racist ass-” He was cut off as both of his socks were jammed into his mouth because, sure, why not make this night worse than it already was?

When Racist Asshole seemed satisfied that Sam was securely gagged he stepped back from him, pleased with himself. “I’m _not_ racist.”

He grinned at Sam’s lack of response, and Sam rolled his eyes at him, because making it so your opponent couldn’t speak was _not_ the same as winning the damn argument.

Racist Asshole checked the phone again. “Time’s up.” He aimed the gun at Sam’s temple again as he dialed and, for the first time, Sam felt the inkling of what just might have been fear as it started to ring. And ring. And ring.

And then a dial tone.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Dying bound and gagged in a warehouse because he had needed a prop for a stupid prank was really _not_ how he wanted to go out. “Ok, fuck this,” Racist Asshole, clicking off the safety on the gun just as there was an explosion of sound and wood and a blur of silver metal crashed through the ceiling.

Racist Asshole was already moving, darting behind Sam as War Machine raised a gauntlet at him, primed to shoot.

Sam had a split second of relief before there was the insistent press of a gun to his head and, _oh yeah, still a hostage._ “Stand down, or I’ll shoot him in the damn head.” Racist Asshole was demanding, but Sam could hear the quake of fear in his voice and felt a stab of satisfaction. _Yeah, you better be scared._

Rhodey’s faceplate flipped up, directing his next words at Sam. “Sam. You’re going to be ok.”

Racist Asshole’s other hand curled around Sam’s neck, manhandling his head against the idiot’s flabby stomach. “Don’t talk to him. Talk to me. Get out of the suit, now, or he’s a dead man.”

Rhodey ignored him, still focussed on Sam, gauntlet still raised. “You know what this is, right?”

And yep, Sam did, which meant it was time to get the hell out of the way - not the easiest with a gun to his head and a hand on his neck, but he’d manage.

“What the hell does that mean?” Racist Asshole demanded, hand tightening on Sam’s throat.

“Ok, ok,” Rhodey placated him. “Don’t hurt him, alright? Let’s work this out.” And he lowered the gauntlet.

It worked. The hand on Sam’s throat loosened as Racist Asshole relaxed his grip on him, just a little, and a little was enough. Sam threw himself sideways, the chair clattering to the floor as he heard the War Machine repulser fire. There was a heavy thump behind him, and then the sound of metal footsteps running his way.

There was the chink of metal snapping as Rhodey broke the chain between Sam’s hands and ankles, then quickly unwound what was left of them. As soon as he was free, Sam tugged the socks out of his mouth, gagging on them on the way out as he worked saliva back into his throat.

“Sam, you alright?”

Sam did a quick assessment. A little sore, a little bloodied, and some heavily bruised pride, but otherwise unhurt. “Yeah,” he decided. “I’m ok. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Sam tried to get to his feet, but the knee Racist Asshole had battered collapsed under him. Immediately there were metal arms keeping him upright, as Sam favored his good leg. “That better not be a permanent injury.”

“Let’s get you to the Compound med bay to make sure, ok?”

Sam glanced back at where Racist Asshole was lying sprawled on the floor. “Is he…?”

“Just unconscious. Hill will find him a nice cell somewhere, don’t worry. What did he want?”

“Something from Tony. Money, probably.”

“Probably,” Rhodey agreed. “I can’t believe he thought you were me.”

“Same,” Sam replied. “I mean, between the two of us, I’m clearly the better Avenger. And the better-looking one. Not even a competition.”

“Nice words for the guy who just saved your sorry ass.”

“What can I say, I have to be honest.”

Rhodey flexed, just a little so as not to jostle Sam, causing an array of weapons to burst forth from the War Machine suit. “You think your dress-up wings can really top these, Wilson?”

“Compensating for something there, Rhodes?”

“You wish.”

“Sure. Whatever you tell yourself at night. How did you find me?”

“What, you think F.R.I.D.A.Y. can’t track a burner phone? Speaking of - F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“Yes, Colonel?”_

“Ask Hill to send a clean-up crew to my location would you? We have some trash that needs taking out.”

_ “I have already alerted her. A team is on its way.” _

“Tell them to send a med crew too.”

Sam groaned, about to protest, then felt a sting of pain in his knee again. Better safe than sorry, he supposed.

Rhodey helped Sam back into a sitting position as they waited for reinforcements. “It’s a good thing you were in Tony’s lab when you were,” Sam said.

Rhodey actually looked embarrassed for a second. “Sure.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “What were you doing in there, Rhodes?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, I won’t tell. What were you doing?”  


“Ok. Um, so you know how there’s been pineapples showing up all over the Compound?”

“Yeah. Wait. _Wait.”_

“Yeah.”

“That’s been _you?”_

Rhodey shrugged. “I get bored sometimes. I was going to fill Tony’s suit with them.”

“I assumed it was Clint.”

Rhodey grinned. “Yeah, I thought people might.”

“That is evil as hell.”

“Thank you.”

“I was actually…” It was Sam’s turn to flush a bit. “Um, he grabbed me because I was actually going to buy a pineapple. To put in Clint’s nest in the east vents.”

“The one he thinks no one knows about but really everyone knows about?”

“That’s the one. But now I know it’s not Clint…”

Rhodey considered it. “After we get this idiot secure and that knee checked out…want to do it anyway?”

Sam grinned back at him. “Hell yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Whumptoberverse will continue in [Man in a Can](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494669/chapters/64568395)
> 
> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot), especially if you also write fanfic or do fanart! Share your work with me!
> 
> If you're liking the work I'm putting out on Ao3 and want to support me as creator elsewhere, it would mean the world to me if you were to check out my writing podcast 'Kill the Cat', which is available on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=VeMJEMn8SXOm2FiRCNkN0g), or anywhere you listen to podcasts and hit that subscribe button, or my web series 'Codependent' which can be viewed/subscribed to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_EF7OOOYPU&list=PL-sJO_AxBYjddRzm1Q6F9Wb99ea_R2ju1&index=2&ab_channel=CatSole).
> 
> And hey. You're doing better than you think are. Be nice to yourself.


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